


january 26

by mushroomcow69



Series: t's projection hurt/comfort:) [5]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, Coping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Recovery, Soft Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:06:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28998726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushroomcow69/pseuds/mushroomcow69
Summary: every night, clay's woken up to his boyfriend trying to hide sobs. when george finally snaps, he finds out why.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: t's projection hurt/comfort:) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073444
Comments: 25
Kudos: 283





	january 26

**Author's Note:**

> it is 4 am and this is so so badly written i did not read this after i wrote it i just felt like i had to write something dedicated to this because hey guys. as of today, january 26, 2021, all the skin cells she ever touched are gone. im clean:)
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: mentioned past non con, alcohol, description of a panic attack

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Clay’s eyebrows furrowed as he leaned over George and flicked on the lamp. His tone was thick with something between frustration and worry, muddled by exhaustion. He wasn’t surprised, this wasn’t anywhere near the first time it’d happened. Nights like these had, to both boy’s chagrin, become a sort of painful routine. Clay would fall asleep, cuddled up and blanketed by light breaths and soft pecks, only to wake to muffled sobs and quaking shoulders. He didn’t know what was hurting George so deeply, he didn’t know what haunted him each time the sun went down, and god did he want to. He would give anything to know. To look into George’s eyes and see the bottomless well of pain, and know that he couldn’t even do as much as wade past the surface, was torturous. He would give anything to be able to help, to know where the bottom of the well lay, to drop a rope into the murky water. But night after night, George refused. He wiped his face, lied through his teeth, and sat in stubborn silence until Clay fell asleep.

The shot of pain that flew down Clay’s spine when he heard George’s stuttering breaths was like every other night. Like every other time he had to wake up to see the person he cared about the most hurting from something he _couldn’t fix_.

But as he came to, slowly opening his eyes and sitting up beside George, he realized that tonight was unlike every other night. Through the scattered fog of sobs and shallow gasps, Clay realized that George was laughing. That these sobs were different, more emotional and feverish. And as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he realized that George was _smiling_.

“George?”

Clay tensed, anticipating the routine flinch and immediate forced silence as George realized he was awake.

It didn’t come.

Instead, George huffed another wet laugh, looking over his shoulder and making eye contact through welling tears.

It was jarring, everything happening was the exact opposite of what Clay had come to expect. George never faltered, never let his guard slip. Every time Clay woke up to him having an episode, he’d immediately shut down, swallow the tears and stare silently at their comforter until Clay had given up and went back to sleep.

But now, he laughed, looked Clay in the eye, and laughed again, light and soaking wet with relief.

“I was,” his breath stuttered again, “I was just a kid, I mean,” He trailed off, and Clay realized that just maybe, he was finally finding out what the fuck was happening, that after weeks of banging his fists on iron walls until they bled, maybe George was finally opening the door.

“I was just a kid, just a teenager, and he,” George choked another sob through the smile, “he got me so drunk, I mean I couldn’t even stand and I didn’t know _what_ was happening,”

Clay felt his heart begin to stutter at the implications, begging for the next words to be _something_ proving him wrong.

“And every single night, every single time you touch me, my skin just… _crawls_ with the ghost of him. He never leaves, I can never get it off me, his touch burned this crater into my skin and the scar won’t fade but I,” he cut himself off with another choked sob followed by a breathless laugh, “I’m clean, Clay.”

“George?”

Clay knew tears were welling in his eyes, he could feel his hands beginning to shake, but he couldn’t care less, not knowing what had happened to his boyfriend, what he’d been going through under the guise of normalcy and secrecy.

“I’m clean, Clay. He’s gone. It’s gone.” George choked on another laugh, and only then did Clay notice just how shaky his shoulders had become, just how hunched over he was, just how quickly his chest was heaving.

“George,” he breathed again, reaching out to grab his arm before remembering what he’d just learned and deciding against it. George’s breath only sped, his chest stuttering now as he sobbed euphorically.

“I can’t,” he gasped again, hand reaching to clutch his chest, “I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m gonna be sick,” he slurred, fingers grasping at his sweat soaked t-shirt.

“George, It’s okay,” Clay reached his hand out again, leaving it hovering undecidedly by George’s shoulder, “Breathe, baby.”

“I,” a sharp gasp wracked its way through George’s body, “I feel _so much_. It’s so much, Clay.”

Before he could stop himself, Clay was jutting his arms out, wrapping his shaking boyfriend into a bear hug. He stuttered once he realized, moving to pull away, before he felt a head collapse against his chest, rising and falling with frantic sobs.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, moving to rest his lips atop George’s head, “Breathe my love. It’s okay.”

This, he can do. He can comfort, even with the still settling shock of what George had confessed, he knew how to comfort his boyfriend.

“It’s so much,” George mumbled again, lips pressed into the now damp fabric of Clay’s hoodie.

“I know, baby. But it’s okay. You said you’re clean now, right George?”

He was met with a feeble nod against his chest.

“You’re clean. He’s gone, George. You’re clean now.” George buried his head deeper into Clay’s chest, arms wrapping around him.

And for the first time in months, he felt only one pair of arms.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the quality of this i just felt like i needed to memorialize this occasion bc yall have been through so much of this journey w me:) here have shitty little happy overwhelmed brainrot to feed u until i get this dnf oneshot out i promise shes a comin<3 also follow me on twt if u want @ mushroomcow69


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